Day 3: Shattered
by SooperSara
Summary: Zutara Week 2019: Day 3 Leaving Ozai alive has consequences.


The palace was simultaneously bustling and eerily silent all morning. The servants didn't seem to know how to react—their new Fire Lord was scarcely strong enough to leave his bed unaided, and the old was bound for the capital again, stripped of his bending and his rank. In thousands of years of history, a servant told Katara in a whisper, a new Fire Lord had never been crowned while his predecessor survived. But Ozai was coming back, and what that meant was beyond anyone's knowing.

"I have to do this, Katara." Zuko's voice was a quiet rasp. He perched on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched and face pale while the servants bustled around, preparing his regalia.

She wanted to argue with him. _You need rest, Zuko. You need to heal. This can wait. The war isn't going to start back up if he sits in prison for a few more days. _But she knew that look in his eyes. She'd worn that look. As much as it might hurt to stand, to face his father again, Zuko needed this. He needed his father to know that he had survived, and he needed the Fire Nation to know that, wounded or not, Zuko still had the strength to stand his ground. Swallowing back her worries, she sat beside him.

"What can I do to help?"

* * *

"He's still dangerous," Suki said quietly from her place at Sokka's side. "Even without his bending, Ozai is—"

Zuko nodded. "I know." He let out a slow breath. "Just—stay back. I don't think he'll attack any of you, but keep your guard up."

Aang looked like he wanted to protest, but Toph punched him in the shoulder before the words could leave his mouth.

For a long, breathless second, Zuko met Katara's eyes. She gave a nod, and he turned away.

"Let's get this over with" With a nod, he squared his shoulders, and the servants opened the doors.

* * *

According to the sages, this ceremony was older than the Fire Nation itself. There were chants and prayers and passages read in the ancient language of the Sun Warriors—it should have been enough to put her to sleep, but Katara kept her eyes fixed on Zuko's back. If he could remain upright, posture perfect despite the thick layer of bandages wound around his chest, she could keep her eyes open. He needed her to.

"Ozai," one of the sages boomed down at the former Fire Lord. "You have been brought here on the order of Fire Lord Zuko, to answer for your actions before Agni himself. The cruelty you have shown your own people brings shame upon our great nation—"

There was more—a list of Ozai's crimes in the eyes of the spirits and the Fire Nation—enough to make Katara feel sick. Seeing the man in person was worse. Ozai looked ragged and almost wild. Greasy tendrils of black hair hung across his face, and his Agni Kai trousers were tattered at the hems, but he glared around the room, eyes cold and hard, as though this were still his domain.

"By the authority of Agni," Zuko said when his turn came, "I hereby revoke your titles—"

For the first time, Ozai looked up, eyes ablaze with loathing. "Agni doesn't listen to failures like you."

Zuko didn't so much as flinch, but his hand hovered toward his lightning wound. "—and all the privileges of the royal house. From this day on, Ozai of the Fire Nation, your ties to the throne are severed."

* * *

This didn't feel like a victory. The ceremony ended, and the guards hauled Ozai off toward prison, no true power left to his name, but there was nothing to celebrate. It felt—hollow. And as much as the sages insisted that this was the only way to ensure that Zuko's ascension to the throne would be a peaceful one, the promise felt as shallow as everything else.

Zuko excused himself while Aang was busy chattering about the ancient Sun Warrior language—apparently, the monks had taught him a phrase or two, and he wanted them all to know how many times the sages had said "dragon's breath"—but Katara couldn't find it in herself to listen. Without a word, she turned and disappeared into the deeper recesses of the palace.

She found Zuko in a quiet corridor, knees pulled to his chest, staring blankly at the portraits in front of him. He looked small, as though his crimson robes might swallow him alive.

"I thought this was finally going to be over." Zuko didn't look at her, but he didn't shoo her away either.

She sat beside him, eyes trailing down the row of portraits, generation after generation of royalty, stern-faced and imposing. His ancestors. She wondered if they'd ever been as uncertain as he looked. As she _felt_.

"I thought—with the war over, I thought—"

_That Ozai would be gone. That his grip would fade. That things would be easier. That the past wouldn't matter so much. _Katara pulled herself into a ball and rested her chin on her knees. "That it would feel different," she offered.

Zuko nodded. "I should have known better. Things have never been that easy before. Why should they start now?" He sighed and rested his head back against the wall. "Why should ending a century of war change anything?" His eyes closed.

"One thing is different," Katara said quietly.

She felt his gaze turn in her direction, and she let her hand brush against his.

"You won't have to do this alone."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I've learned a lesson. Starting major revisions on a fic less than 20 minutes before you need to be in bed? Not the best idea. This turned out a lot better than I was expecting when I started revising (you can be the judge of whether _better_ means _good_ or not), but _man_. I'm gonna feel that lack of sleep when I get to work today.

Oh, well. I wouldn't be a true fic writer if I hadn't lost at least a little sleep over one of these, right?


End file.
